Snap
by Kyrian
Summary: So maybe she shouldn't be standing on the stairs and listening. But she likes to think about it as, 'learning something new about her companion.' Charon/F!LW, PWP


A/N: So I'm writing this Charon/F!LW fic that I really love, but there's no porn in it yet and the pervert in me can't handle that. So here, have some PWP.

DISCLAIMER: I don't out anything in the Fallout universe. This is purely a fanwork.

She's coming back from Gob's Saloon around midnight when it happens.

She'd told Charon she'd be gone a while; that she was planning on getting piss drunk and possibly passing out on the floor. She's done this enough times that Charon isn't worried about her safety in Megaton or her ability to get home. Usually, he comes with her, but tonight she could tell he wasn't up to it, so when he moved to follow her out the door she told him to stay home.

She knows he's probably still awake, cleaning his shotgun or repairing something, waiting for her to appear. He won't expect her this early; she'd lost her enthusiasm for drinking halfway into her first beer and headed back, but usually she's gone until 2 or 3 AM.

It has nothing to do with the asshole at the bar, slinging names at her for having a ghoul companion, but really it has everything to do with him. She hates the things they say about Charon, that they say about her for treating him like a human being. She's heard every insult under the sun about his rotten dick and what she must be hiding under her clothes to choose to be with a ghoul, and she's even more frustrated because none of it's true.

Charon saves her life on occasion, and watches her back, and gives her enough shit that she thinks they're more than just employer and bodyguard, but she knows better than to jump someone's bones when they're under contract to her, even if she's maybe sort of madly in love with him. She doesn't want to roll over afterwards and realize she's expected to pay up, or to find out that Charon's just following orders. And she's too chickenshit to sit down and have a woman-to-man talk with him. He's never so much as glanced at a woman admiringly, and she refuses to fall into the narcissistic trap that any Ghoul would want a human just because they have all their skin. She may have all her skin, but that doesn't do much for her knobby knees, her perpetual awful farmer's tan, or the freckles that cover her face like a blanket.

So maybe she punches the asshole in the face a few times from frustration. And then knees him in the groin. And then spits on him as he rolls around in pain. She hadn't hurt him that bad, though she'll probably have to apologize to Doc Church for the wake-up call she knows he got.

Anyway, the point is, she just isn't in the mood to drink anymore, so she's come home. And she doesn't really want to explain to Charon why she had a sudden change of heart.

So she shuts the door as quietly as possible and toes her boots off in the corner. Dogmeat is snoozing in the corner, too far gone to give her away. She smiles at the way his paws twitch from whatever dream he's having. She contemplates cleaning the dirty dishes in the sink, but decides that's too much work after her traumatic experience and leaves them where they are.

Charon's door is closed. She'd half-expected him to be in the living area somewhere, but it's not unusual for him to retreat to his own space when he's wanting some privacy. Quiet as a mouse, she empties her pockets onto the kitchen counter and creeps upstairs, planning to slip into her room and catch up on some sleep. She can leave the door cracked so Charon knows she's home when he inevitably comes to search for her.

A strange noise stops her at the top of the stairs. It comes from behind Charon's closed door. She freezes and listens, because it sounded almost like a groan of pain to her, and she knows that if Charon's sick or injured, he'll hide it from her as long as possible so she can't mother him about it. She's caught him more than once attempting to tend his own injuries and botching the whole job.

The noise comes again, a soft groan followed by a rhythmic slapping sound that gets a bit faster as she listens. She's confused for a minute, but soon enough red blossoms on her cheeks as she realizes what she's listening to. The creaking of the bed cements it.

Charon is jerking off. And she's listening to it.

As gross as it is to be standing on the stairs, listening to someone masturbate, she can't move right away because the thought of Charon doing anything remotely sexual is completely alien to her. If you'd asked her what Charon does in his free time, masturbation would not have been on the list. He doesn't sneak off when they're out in the wasteland or ask for 'alone time'. He doesn't wink at cute girls in the bar or ask for separate rooms the few times they spring for a hotel room. Sure, he wakes up with morning wood occasionally, so she's aware that he's got working equipment (and hey, it's not like she's deliberating snuggling up to him when they share a bed, she just happens to get cold easily) but even then, when he goes to the bathroom after it's just to piss.

So really, she's just learning a little more about her companion. Nothing weird about that.

Not at all.

Charon groans again, and this time there's a word somewhere in the noise, though she can't tell what it is. The slapping gets louder, and she feels a sudden warmth in her abdomen that's horridly embarrassing. She is NOT getting turned on by listening to someone masturbate, not even someone that she's been mooning over for weeks now. It's enough to make her start creeping up the stairs again, resolving to slip into her room and shut the door and try her hardest to forget this ever happened.

The word is repeated two steps up, and this time she thinks she makes it out. It sounds like...

..her name.

The third time, it's completely clear. He's moaning her name, more frantic now by the sounds coming from the room, and she's been wrong this entire time about what Charon may or may not feel about her and now she doesn't feel at all embarrassed by the fire in between her legs. Charon wants her.

She's not wasting this opportunity.

She sneaks to his door without hesitation and, before she can lose her nerve, pushes it open. Still, it's more than she can do to cross the threshold, not until she's taken the scene in. All movement stops at the first squeak of the door.

Charon is lying on his bed, torso propped up with one arm. The other hovers above his shirtless abdomen, clearly snatched away from the angry red length protruding from his unzipped pants. His face betrays a little shock before he slams the lid down and forces it blank, but he doesn't move to sit or cover himself at all, just watches her like a wary animal as her eyes trace up and down his body. She doesn't let her eyes linger below the waist because it's making it hard for her to focus. Even just the fact that she'd managed to surprise him makes a little more warmth bloom in her chest, which is a really weird thing to get excited about but she doesn't have time to be embarassed by her weirdness right now.

"Was that my name?" she asks redundantly, because she needs to know. She has to make sure.

"...yes." Charon says steadily, his calm only faltering a little bit. His honesty is impressive but unsurprising, not when she's been traveling with him for so long. She knows him inside and out. She takes a step forward and sees the way his muscles tense, his eyes plotting out escape routes and guessing at her next move. The atmosphere is horridly awkward, and she's not sure how to fix it, so she stops again.

"How long?" she murmurs then. He understands her meaning without elaboration.

"A while. ...few months." he says uncomfortably. Finally, he moves, pulling a sheet over his exposed lower body, and hiding his lovely cock from her hungry eyes. It's been longer for him then her then. The thought is both surprising and a little arousing. She's always been a little slow on the uptake, but when she thinks about the way he watches her and realizes what his mind might have been doing while she was sweetly oblivious, her muscles clench with a sweet rush of pleasure.

That's all it takes to get her moving again. She strides up to the edge of his bed with no hesitation, careful to block any escape route by keeping her body firmly between his nightstand and the pack he's left at the foot of the bed. When he goes to sit up, her hand is there on his chest, blocking him, and she pushes him back. He slumps back down with a little grunt and then she's on him, legs on either side of his waist and hands framing his head. She leans down to catch his ruined lips with her own and waits patiently for him to respond.

He doesn't. In fact, he doesn't do anything at all. The lips below her own are rough and warm, just like she imagined, but they might as well be stone for all the reaction she gets. So she breaks the kiss and backs off, confused by his sudden lack of interest. Was she wrong?

Charon's face is uncharacteristically open. There's a little bit of shock there, enough to let her know that she's really surprised the shit out of him. Some suspicion too, which she tries not to take offense to. She knows he can tell she's not drunk, since she hasn't fallen on her face yet (not that she doesn't do that sober), but still, he's not giving in for some reason.

"Charon," she says, "I want this. I've wanted this for a while."

She lets her hand cup the side of his face and draw her thumb across the exposed muscle of his cheek, wondering if she's misread the signs. He doesn't react to the touch, still like a statue beneath her body. Some guys are pickier in real life than they are in fantasy, she knows, and she hopes with a selfish desperation that Charon's not one of them, because it's going to scar her forever if she has to do the walk of shame out of his room.

Charon catches her hand in his and draws it away from his face. She lets him, but the strength in his grip tells her that he would have forced her too, even if she fought it.

"You sure, smoothskin?" he growls up to her. "Because if you tell me now you are, there's no changing your mind later. I don't play easy."

She reads the meaning behind the rough words, the way he covers his traces of uncertainty with callousness and distance. Charon's never been good at the soft stuff, but she's pulled too many bullets out of him to be confused by it now. So she leans down and presses her forehead to his, his breath a warm cloud against her face.

"As long as it's you, and me, and this, I don't fucking care." she breathes. His icy blue eyes lock onto hers for a long moment, and then before she can react, he has one hand on her back and he flips their position with no effort at all. Her legs react instantly and lock around his hips, her head caged in by his long arms as he leans down. She's able to take one quick breath before his lips are pressed against hers. She whimpers as his body presses down in one smooth line, chest to hips, not resting all of his weight on her but enough to feel the largeness of the man above her. His half-hard cock is pressed into her thigh and his tongue is suddenly in her mouth, swirling around hers. He explores the flat planes of her teeth and the contours of her mouth like a man taking his first breath after nearly drowning. The experience is both overwhelming and just what she imagined. He draws her lower lip into his mouth and nips sharply, which makes her gasp and arch against him.

They've only touched a few times, just brushes in tight spaces and a few hurried medical procedures where survival was paramount to touch. Now, she can press her palms to the hard planes of his arms freely, feeling the roughness where his skin has ripped and the warm wire of his muscle. There's no hesitation or disgust in her fingers; she drinks him up like a fine wine as he tilts her head to the side and bites at her pulse. The feel of teeth makes her shudder underneath him.

He slides his hands under the bottom of her shirt and begins tugging it off. She helps him pull it over her head before he loses patience and rips the t-shirt into shreds, and then his hands are wrenching the straps of her bra down off her arms, baring her breasts to cool air. At the feel of his rough lips on one nipple, she keens, long and loud. When her hips buck up and her torso writhes against his mouth, he puts his hands on her shoulders and _shoves_ her into the mattress. She feels the easy strength in his body as he holds her still and takes what he wants and it's more than a little hot.

He drags her out of her pants with little protest from her, panties following quickly behind, and she's naked except for the bra trapped around her waist. Charon moves his mouth to her other nipple and lifts his hips so he can slide one hand down her body. She gasps at the warmth of his hand between her legs, and then he is parting her lips with one finger and pressing deep inside, his finger crooked in just the right way. She squirms again, but another warning bite to her collarbone keeps her from pushing into to his hand in a quest for relief. She whimpers and scratches at his arms, but it brings a deep groan of pleasure from him instead of pain.

He opens her in sharp, swift movements; two fingers, three, and then he's practically fucking her on his massive digits as his erection grows against her leg. She wants to ask him to slow down, but she feels the wildness in his shoulders and the harshness in his breathing tells her he's already going as slow as he can. She wonders how long it's been since he last had someone underneath him. She's always been too afraid to ask, but she thinks it may have been a few decades, by the way he's rutting desperately at her leg as he struggles to prep her.

It's like being trapped under a wild animal, feeling the way he quivers under her fingertips and nearly loses control. He's a wire that's just about to snap. She loves it.

When she circles his erection with one hand and squeezes gently, he shudders against her body with a wild groan. He pushes his trousers down with one quick movement and kicks them off, so she can wrap one leg around him and squeeze. She pumps his length in her small hand, urging him to slide up her body and line himself up. He doesn't fight her, just props his body up on one elbow and removes her hand from him.

"Last chance to change your mind." he says, his voice thick with desire, the head of his cock already nudging her in a way that makes her muscles seize. She can't think like this, feeling the way he's lined up and trembling with desire to piston forward. She nearly forgets that he even spoke.

"Would you stop if I told you to?" she asks, her own voice faulty and breathless. He looks her in the eye and lets one side of his mouth curl up in amusement.

"No." he replies, just before his hips snap forward. Her breath catches and then she groans at the sharp pain that follows as he sinks in, but before she can catch up, his hip are already moving in a steady, relentless rhythm. It's too much, just this side of painful, but her hands grip his biceps and that grounds her against his bodily assault, and if he feels her nails digging in, he doesn't complain. Instead, he lifts his body up on his elbows so he can look down at where he's thrusting into her and lets out a low groan. The sight of it is intensely erotic, and though she knows there's no chance of her getting off this round with the rate he's going, she doesn't mind. The sweat on his face and the weight of his body on her is enough.

Before long, his rhythm gets erratic and his breathing intensifies on her neck. He thrusts twice more and then buries himself into her, sharp hipbones cutting into her thighs, and his teeth dig into the meat of her shoulder like he's trying to really take a chunk out of her. It fucking hurts, but the feeling of his cock twitching inside of her as she clenches distracts her away from the pain. He's not the only one it's been a long time for.

The throbbing in her clit reminds her that she should really make sure it's not quite as long until the next time.

When the aftershocks pass and he can finally move again, he pulls out quickly and collapses to the side of her in a boneless heap. His half-limp penis leaves a trail of slick between her thighs, but she feels no urge to clean up. She can't see his expression underneath his arm, but the crescent marks she's left on his skin make a thrill of something go through her.

"...sorry." he says quietly to the ceiling. "I guess that wasn't very good for you."

He goes to sit up on the bed, his eyes sliding over her without looking. There's a sudden change in the atmosphere, a tense feeling, and she knows by the way he's carefully not touching her that he's trying to give her another out, even let her pretend this never happened if that's what she wants, so she rolls over and into his side, trapping him on the bed. He could push her off, could stand up and walk out no matter what she tries to do, but instead he lets her sling one leg over his two and pillow her head on his shoulder. She traces his chest lightly, feeling the old leather of his skin against her callused fingers.

"Guess you'll have to make it up to me." she says confidently, enjoying the ache between her thighs and the way he shifts uncomfortably as her slickness rubs off on his skin.

It's a gamble, but she wins. His mouth turns up at one side, just half a smile, and the arm under her head curls around her shoulder.

"Guess I will." he murmurs. His large fingers brush an abused nipple, trail down her stomach, and nudge gently at the spot where she's pressed up against his thighs.

She smiles back and lifts her leg out of the way, closing her eyes. When she finds the strength to get out of bed and actually go somewhere, she's going to have a long talk with Nova about how right she was, but for now...

Well, she's got other things to focus on.

A/N: This isn't super edited or anything, but if you enjoyed it, give me a shout!


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